“Good girl! We’re all through,” Micah announced, turning his head a fraction to look into Raffaela’s eyes, and her breath caught as she gazed back at him. She forgot time or place or circumstances, feeling caught in dark mysterious depths that almost seemed to hold animosity. Yet why would he dislike her?
His attention swung back to Sophie. “You were a very brave patient, too.” He leaned down to brush a kiss on her forehead. “You were a big girl.”
She smiled at him and moved away to play with Angelica while he looked at Raffaela. “Next patient. Where do we begin?”
“Before you start on my cuts, do you have anything for a headache? I took my last pill yesterday.”
He rummaged in the pack again and shook out a pill to give to her. His hand brushed hers, and his eyes narrowed. He reached out to take her hands and turn them over in his.
She was aware of the warmth of his hands. His fingers were blunt and well shaped, so much larger than hers. He leaned closer, his dark eyes studying her, and once again she felt caught in a current of tension that vibrated between them.
“Where are your wedding rings?”
She looked at her bare fingers and shook her head, biting her lips in uncertainty and glancing at the girls. “Can we talk later when they’re asleep?” she asked.
He nodded as he passed her his canteen. She gulped down the pill and handed back the canteen, watching as he took a pill and washed it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed.
“Your head hurts from my hitting you, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“It’s nothing.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and replaced the canteen. “What do I treat first?”
She held out her arm where a long cut ran from her wrist to her elbow. His hand closed gently around her wrist. The moment he touched her, he paused to flick another glance at her, his dark gaze unfathomable. He sprayed the cut and bandaged it.
“Now we’ll do the ones on your back and legs. You can use one of my shirts to cover you, but you need to strip out of those slacks for me to tend your leg. That’s a nasty gash,” Micah said calmly as he fished things out of his pack. He handed her a khaki shirt and spread his bedroll.
“I’ll turn my back. Tell me when you’re ready,” he said. Raffaela nodded and watched as he turned his back and moved a few feet away, fiddling with supplies he had in the first-aid kit. She pulled off the slacks, her breath catching as they came free where they had stuck to her torn skin. She shed her blouse and pulled on his shirt, the long tail hanging almost to her knees.
She lay down on his bedroll, stretching out on her stomach and pulling his shirt over her bottom, tugging it down as much as possible.
“Micah.”
Micah turned around to meet her gaze, which had lost all its coolness. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, and he felt a twinge of amusement.
“Relax, Raffaela,” he said as he knelt beside her. “I’ve seen women’s backsides before, and I’m not seeing nearly as much as I would if we were on a beach.”
She turned her head away from him, and as Micah’s gaze roamed down over her, his insides clenched. He drew a deep breath. He had seen plenty of women’s legs and bottoms. And he had been on plenty of beaches, but the long shapely legs stretched beside him now made his pulse jump. And even though her bottom was covered completely with the tail of his shirt, his imagination was running riot.
The backs of her legs were covered with numerous small cuts, blue-black bruises and one ugly gash on her right thigh. The gash was deep and nasty and Micah thought legs and skin like hers should not have cuts and bruises. “You must have been out of the plane when it exploded and the pieces hit you,” he said, aware a hoarse note had come into his voice.
The girls came to stand on the other side of Raffaela and watch him. Sophie held Angelica’s hand as their wide eyes were fixed on Raffaela.
“Does it hurt?” Angelica asked, kneeling down beside Raffaela.
“Not much,” Raffaela answered brightly, and he knew she was lying through her teeth.
“Raffaela,” he said, hating what ought to be done, but knowing she would have a worse scar if he didn’t. “You have a gash here that needs stitches. I can spray something on it that will numb it slightly, but it will still hurt some if I take stitches. If I don’t, you’ll have more of a scar.”
She turned her head, twisting around and partially raising herself up on her elbows. The thick braid was over her shoulder, and suddenly he imagined her without his shirt, and with all that auburn hair tumbling loose. His mouth went dry, and he tried to focus on what she was saying. She frowned.
“I’m sorry, I was thinking about your cut.” Now he was lying. “What did you just say to me?”
“Do you know how to stitch up a wound?”
“I’ve done it before.”
She nodded. “Go ahead.”
“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in my pack. Want a drink?”
She shook her head. “Just go on and get it done.” The tail of his shirt covered the top of the cut. “I have to move the shirt up slightly.”
“Do what you have to.”
Sophie knelt down beside Raffaela, and she turned away from him. “Mama, Aunt Rachel,” she said, promptly correcting herself, “do you want me to hold your hand? I’ll tell you a story, if you’d like,” she offered.
“You tell me a story, Sophie,” she answered.
Micah paused when Sophie used both Mama and Aunt Rachel. Was there a possibility this wasn’t Raffaela? He thought it was more likely that Sophie was confused. This woman wasn’t shy. His throbbing head attested to that. And even though she had removed her wedding rings, she wore the ruby pendant.
Returning his attention to Raffaela, Micah scooted the shirt higher and felt sweat pop out on his forehead. It was steamy hot in the forest, but he knew that wasn’t what was causing his temperature to jump. It was sexy as hell to have this woman stretched out beside him, wearing only his shirt and her underclothes.
He tried to focus on her injuries. He didn’t want to hurt her. When he had taken stitches before, it had been in tough men who had been fighting with him. Not in a beautiful woman with the longest, shapeliest pair of legs he had ever had the privilege to touch.
Silently swearing, he went to work. He saw her fingers clench, but she was quiet. The woman was gutsy. He had to touch her thigh to hold the edges of the cut together. His fingers moved deftly on her smooth, warm skin, and all the time he was too aware of where his hands were. Finally he finished bandaging the large gash and then began to disinfect the smaller ones.
“You hurt?” Angelica asked in her high voice, bending down and looking at Raffaela.
“I’m all right, sweetie.”
“The worst is over,” he said. “Unless you have any more deep cuts
